


My Soul To Take

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [35]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Dragon Riders, Gen, Hurt Aramis | René d'Herblay, Hurt/Comfort, Witchcraft, soul-sucking sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28111011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: The battle against Milady comes to a head when she captures Aramis and uses dark magic to bind his soul and turn him into her own personal black knight.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 24
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

The four musketeers gathered in Athos's office after he'd summoned them together. Athos always looked somber, but today there was an extra weight of grim gravity about him. Aramis wondered what dire news he had this time.

Athos moved to stand behind his desk to face them, drawing his shoulders back. "We're going after Milady," he declared.

The rest of them exchanged careful looks at that. Of course Milady was a serious threat that had been hounding them for far too long, but it wasn't like they'd had any luck tracking her down previously.

"What about Rochefort?" Porthos asked. "He's a Spanish spy."

"Who currently has the King's complete trust," Athos countered. "We need proof. But as of now, the King has banned us from the palace and given strict orders that we are not to return until the witch's threat is neutralized."

D'Artagnan's brows shot upward and he scowled. "Isn't that supposed to be Rochefort's job?"

"Now it's ours," Athos replied, then added more quietly, "It was mine from the beginning."

Aramis straightened. "I hope you're not planning on taking this on alone."

"No, but I don't want to risk anyone else. Milady has singled the four of us out; we will handle her."

He opened the lid of a chest that was sitting on his desk and started pulling out compasses with multiple needles to give to each of them.

"Witch trackers?" Porthos said, taking his.

Athos nodded. "I acquired our own, since Rochefort has proven less than helpful."

The four of them stepped closer together and held their trackers out next to each other. The needles all swiveled to start pointing in the same direction.

"Well," Aramis said, "it looks like we have somewhere to start."

With sober looks of agreement, they headed out to retrieve their dragons, then took to the skies. Aramis's tracker continued to align its many needles as they soared out past the city. The others' must have been doing the same because they all continued to fly in the same direction. Until all of a sudden the compass's needles started spinning wildly.

Aramis looked over at the others and saw Athos signaling for them to land at the edge of some woodland.

"Mine's stopped workin'," Porthos said once they'd touched down.

"Same," d'Artagnan said, holding his up as evidence. Ayelet craned her neck around to give the compass a sniff.

"Milady has used spells to ward off trackers before," Aramis commented. "We must be getting close if we've triggered them."

Athos stared at his compass for a long moment, then toward the woods. "We'll have to split up," he declared and slid off Savron's back. "Call if you find something, and be on guard."

The rest of them dismounted as well to make their foray into the forest on foot. Aramis watched with trepidation as his friends moved off into the pale trees and out of sight. Normally, the fact that each of them had a dragon with them meant there was hardly anything to worry about. But dealing with a sorceress as powerful and malicious as Milady was another matter.

He turned to Rhaego and canted his head for them to get going.

The woods were quiet with a false sense of emptiness that didn't come from winter hibernation; most fauna tended to hunker down when a predator as large as a dragon was nearby.

Or perhaps a witch.

Aramis glanced at the tracker in his hand and pulled up short. The needles were aligning again.

"Well, what should we make of that?" he mused aloud.

Rhaego scrunched his nose up.

"Indeed. Either the warding stopped because we're no longer close, or…" Aramis sighed. "She wants us to find her."

He turned slightly to the left, then to the right, trying to see which way had more of the needles aligning. As three more swiveled closer together, he adjusted his heading and cautiously continued further into the forest.

Rhaego made a soft, querying snort.

"Not yet," Aramis replied quietly. He didn't want Rhaego calling out and spooking Milady if she was really out here and they were closing in on her. And maybe the others' trackers had also started working again and they would all converge on her location. Not that Aramis had any illusion that would give them the upper hand.

Dead leaves and twigs crinkled underfoot as musketeer and dragon moved carefully through the woods. There was no sign of a dwelling all the way out here to indicate why Milady was here—if she even was. Aramis wondered whether she could fool the trackers into giving a false reading. But why? To lead them away from Paris? But it was them she wanted.

A snap of a branch sounded through the woods, and Aramis and Rhaego froze. The dragon straightened sharply and sniffed the air. His pupils dilated and he whipped his head up toward the barren tree canopy. Aramis followed his gaze just in time to see a black creature perched in the treetops leap down onto Rhaego's back. Both animals gave a screech as Rhaego twisted around, trying to reach the beast. It was one of those winged demons they'd encountered on the Jura mission.

Aramis scrambled backward as the two creatures went rolling through the mulch in a grappling tangle of gnashing teeth and snapping jaws. He whipped out his pistol by instinct but couldn't get a clear shot. His gun wasn't loaded with acimite, so maybe he could risk firing…but he'd just as likely miss with how rapidly Rhaego and the demon were twisting and rolling. Rhaego screeched and kicked his back claws against the beast gouging its own talons across his hide.

"Rhaego!" Aramis shouted, desperate to help but woefully outmatched.

A puff of cold air brushed against the back of his neck and sent a chill through his veins like the fingers of a ghost plunging through his skin. He spun around, his heart leaping into his throat when he came face to face with Milady.

The corner of her mouth curved upward. "Hello, Aramis."

He jerked his pistol up to shoot, but a blinding flash of light slammed into him like a physical force, and then there was nothing.

.o.0.o.

Porthos smacked the tracker with his palm, then gave it a shake for good measure. "Come on," he groused.

The thing still wasn't working, all its needles spinning haphazardly no matter which direction he turned. He had half a mind to throw it against a tree for all the good it was doing.

"You smell anythin'?" he asked his dragon.

Vrita gave a head shake.

"No wonder Rochefort never got anywhere," he grumbled. "How are we supposed to find one witch in all of France?"

Vrita made a gurgling sound like she had no idea.

Porthos huffed. "If this thing doesn't start working soon, we're heading back. It's freezing out here."

A high-pitched shriek echoed through the woods. Vrita snapped her gaze toward it. Another one followed, this one hair-raising.

Porthos cursed under his breath as he drew his sword and took off toward the source, Vrita lumbering alongside him. The screeches grew louder as they barreled through the forest until Porthos caught sight of a mass of red tumbling back and forth across the ground.

Vrita roared and surged forward, charging through the trees and nearly slamming into Rhaego as she skidded past him and snapped her jaws at the black creature attacking him. Porthos felt a zing of horror as he recognized the type of demon, and he whipped his gaze around for a whole swarm of them about to descend while the two dragons killed the one.

There was no sign of any others, though that didn't mean they couldn't come out of nowhere like they had the last time.

Crashing branches had Porthos whirling around, sword raised, but it was just Athos, d'Artagnan, and their dragons arriving.

"What happened?" d'Artagnan asked breathlessly.

"One of Milady's demons," Porthos said, nodding to the carcass Vrita had tossed several feet away.

She was hovering near Rhaego and gingerly nudging at a myriad of bleeding scratches adorning his scales. The russet dragon flinched away from her poking.

Porthos looked around the woods. "Where's Aramis?"

Athos and d'Artagnan also turned in full circles, scanning the area. There was no sign of the marksman.

Porthos spun toward Rhaego. "Where's Aramis?" he asked urgently.

The dragon let out a low mewl and ducked his head.

Porthos grimaced; right, Rhaego had had his talons full with that demon. But Aramis wouldn't have left his dragon in trouble like that, and they wouldn't have split up…

D'Artagnan moved past Porthos to check the dragon's wounds while Athos started walking around looking for signs of what had happened. The captain stopped at a spot that seemed insignificant, then slowly bent down and picked something up off the ground. Turning around, Athos held up Aramis's hat.

"He was here," Porthos concluded.

Athos's expression, however, was grave. "And it looks like he found Milady."

.o.0.o.

Aramis woke to an aching head and crick in his neck from his chin hanging down against his chest. His arms were also in an uncomfortable position…from being strung up above him. He jerked fully awake at that realization and thrashed on reflex, his back knocking against the cold wall behind him. His gloves cushioned his wrists from the coarse fiber that grated against them in his struggles, which did nothing to loosen the bonds.

He stilled his movements and squinted as his vision gradually cleared, giving him a view of what looked like an abandoned church—a few broken pews were piled in a corner, several of the windows along the opposite wall had broken panes coated in dust and frost, and dead leaves were strewn across a dirty floor.

Movement in his peripheral vision had him snapping his gaze to his left as Milady stalked toward him. He tugged again at his bonds, but they didn't show any sign of giving.

"I'd been hoping you'd be the one to come to my trap," she said. "Or d'Artagnan."

Aramis sucked in a quiet breath and tried to steel himself against the trepidatious fluttering of his heart. "And what torment have you devised this time?" he gritted out.

He had trouble imagining what could be worse than the last one she'd inflicted on him, torturing him with the ghosts of his dead friends lost in Savoy.

But her imagination…given her track record thus far, that was something to be afraid of.

Milady smirked and turned away from him, walking over to the altar where a variety of ingredients were laid out. And not the religious kind.

She began to mix things in a spell bowl, ignoring her captive for the moment. Aramis glanced up at the rigging holding him in place. She'd looped the rope over one of the chandelier hooks in the wall, meaning he had absolutely no leverage for trying to yank it free. He rotated his wrists and attempted to slide his hands out of his gloves, but the ropes were cinched too tightly for that. He'd have to dislocate his thumb to manage it…

But there was no time. Already she'd completed her preparations and was bringing the spell bowl back over to him. Aramis tensed, his heart rate ratcheting up.

Milady stopped directly in front of him and held up one of the white flowers from the Jura. Aramis had no idea what it was for, though he remembered her commenting on their significance in the use of spells before she'd stolen the musketeers' supply.

She dropped it into the bowl and began to recite an incantation in Latin. Aramis understood the words, though they had little meaning to him. But thick black smoke began to rise from the bowl.

His heart was slamming against his ribs now as the smoke swayed and curled. Then its tendrils began to extend toward him. Aramis jerked his head back as they abruptly plunged into his nose and mouth and forced their way down his throat. He choked and sputtered on the cloying brume as it wormed down through his sternum where he could feel it permeating through his body and filling every cavity with its ever thickening fumes. He began to convulse as more and more of it consumed not just his body, but his mind.

Milady's chants grew louder and her eyes turned black.

Aramis heard her voice echo forth from her mouth and inside his head.

" _Your soul to take…_ "


	2. Chapter 2

Athos stood in the middle of the woods, clutching Aramis's hat in one hand and his witch tracker in the other. The arrows swung idly in aimless directions. Worry tightened Athos's gut; he had no doubt his ex-wife had taken Aramis, and he feared what she had in store for him.

He turned and walked over to where d'Artagnan was doing his best to check over Rhaego's wounds. "Can you track Aramis's scent?" Athos asked the dragon, holding out his rider's hat.

Rhaego brushed his snout over the brim and feathers, then lifted his head and sniffed the air a few times. He faltered for a moment, then sniffed again. Finally, his expression pinched in regret and he ducked his head.

"Magic," Porthos muttered.

"The dragons could try tracking that instead," d'Artagnan suggested.

Ayelet let out a sharp bark and bobbed her head eagerly.

It was all they had to go on, so they climbed onto their dragons' backs and let them take the lead. At first, it seemed as though none of them could agree on which way to go, and they exchanged a series of chuffs and snorts that the musketeers of course couldn't follow. But finally they appeared to come to a consensus and headed off in the same direction.

Even so, their progress was slow, periodically stopping to sniff the air and adjust course. The longer it took, the more Athos's stomach churned. He didn't even know whether the dragons had a solid scent they were tracking or if they were simply doing their best in a hopeless situation.

"Hey," d'Artagnan called out. "My witch tracker's working again."

Athos looked down to check his, and sure enough, it was pointing ahead in the direction the dragons were heading.

Savron craned his neck to look over his shoulder, and Athos nodded to him to keep going.

They pressed on, the dragons lumbering through the forest until the tree line broke up ahead to give way to a small parcel of land and the ruins of an old church. The sun was just sinking below the horizon, casting long shadows that devoured everything in the small clearing and gave notches in the stone wall the appearance of black horns.

"Place gives me the shivers," Porthos muttered.

Rhaego straightened sharply and let out a gurgling noise toward the building.

"Is Aramis in there?" d'Artagnan asked urgently.

Athos slid out of the saddle without seeing the answer; he had no doubt that's where their brother was.

"Athos," d'Artagnan said in warning, "it could be a trap."

"I know," he replied. "But I'm going inside."

"We all will," Porthos was quick to affirm as he dismounted from his dragon.

D'Artagnan also leaped down from his saddle, then moved around to face Ayelet. "You're too big now to follow us inside, so wait out here and watch for any signs of the witch or more of those demons. And be careful." He took a moment to capture her snout in his hands and give her a stern look in the eyes.

She nudged his shoulder with her nose, communicating the same to him.

Athos looked at Savron, and they exchanged a sober understanding. Milady was not to be underestimated.

His dragon backed up a few steps and then flapped his wings to leap into the air where he rose to circle the site from above. With Vrita, Ayelet, and Rhaego surrounding the church on the ground, the musketeers ventured inside.

Athos didn't bother drawing a weapon; he knew they were of no use against a sorceress. He frankly had no plan of attack against her—or hopes that any would even succeed—but Aramis was in here, and he had to try.

Candles were lit all throughout the main hall of the church, proving it was not, in fact, abandoned. Bowls and bushels of dried flowers were on the altar at the opposite end of the room, but there was no sign of Milady, or Aramis. Dead leaves crunched underfoot as Athos cautiously made his way down the aisle, Porthos and d'Artagnan close behind him.

All the candle flames suddenly bent the same direction, scattering the shadows from one end of the church, and Athos stiffened as a figure suddenly became illuminated, standing near the confessional. Milady.

"Hello, Athos," she greeted.

His chest tightened at the sound of her voice, deceptively soft like it had been once upon a time. But while his body may remember the pain of their past love, his mind knew better.

"Where's Aramis?" Porthos growled.

Athos cast a quick glance around the church again, fearing their brother was lying in a dark corner somewhere. But there wasn't a human sized lump anywhere along the edges.

Milady gave them a simpering moue and raised a hand over her shoulder in a beckoning gesture.

Aramis stepped out from behind the confessional and came to stand at her side. Athos's breath stole from his lungs—Aramis's eyes were solid opaque orbs of black marble.

Milady caressed his arm as she tilted a sultry look up at him. "He's quite handsome," she remarked. "I can see why all the women of Paris fall for him."

Aramis didn't react at all to her words or touch. His gaze was hollow, expression empty.

"Aramis?" Porthos called with a slight tremor in his voice. Aramis didn't respond.

Milady gave them all a smug smirk. "He belongs to me now."

"What did you do to him?" Porthos snarled.

"I bound his soul to me," she replied casually. "Now he will do anything I want. My own personal knight. Well, black knight." She reached up to run her fingers down his cheek, then brought his chin down to kiss him. And Aramis let her.

Athos felt sick.

Porthos drew his sword and started toward them, but Aramis smoothly stepped around Milady, planting himself between her and Porthos, and drew his own blade. Porthos faltered.

"Aramis, no. This isn't you."

There was no way to tell if there was any recognition in those dead, black eyes. And Athos felt a paralyzing chill seize his heart at the thought that Aramis was dead, and this was just a reanimated revenant like Milady had raised in the past.

"He won't listen to you," Milady declared gleefully as she stepped out from behind him. "I told you, he's mine now." She turned her gaze to Aramis. "Kill them."

Aramis launched himself at Porthos, who barely threw his blade up in time to block. Aramis bore down on him with vicious ferocity the likes of which they'd never seen in their friend.

"Aramis, no!" d'Artagnan shouted, but of course it made no difference.

Porthos scrambled backward until he was about to back himself into the wall, at which point he was forced to defend himself. He parried a strike, then another, then darted under the next swing and scrabbled away. "Aramis, come on," he pleaded. "It's me!"

Aramis spun and charged again. But unlike when Milady had cursed d'Artagnan into being her puppet, Aramis was a fully brutal, mindless fighting machine.

D'Artagnan whipped out his sword and plunged into the fight, executing only defensive moves as he fought to help Porthos keep their brother at bay.

Athos skirted around them, waiting for an opening, and then rushed Milady, who had been watching the skirmish with large, hungry eyes. He grabbed her by the arms and slammed her against the confessional. "Undo it!" he demanded. "Take me instead!"

She wasn't fazed at all and simply cackled. "You will either have to let yourself die at the hand of your brother…or slay him yourself."

He tightened his grip and shook her, his own body vibrating with fury.

"Athos!" d'Artagnan yelled.

He whirled just as Aramis came charging at him and had to scramble away as a blade swished through the air where he'd been standing. Having no choice, he drew his sword and parried the attacks Aramis rained down on him. He'd sparred with Aramis plenty of times, knew the marksman's flair and flourish like the steps of a well-practiced dance. This was nothing like that. It was relentless and savage, and Athos could see by the demonic look in those black eyes that Aramis would slaughter him at the first opening. It was kill or be killed, just as Milady had said.

But Athos couldn't do it, couldn't slay his brother.

Porthos barreled in and threw his arms around Aramis from behind, trying to restrain him. Athos took the moment to move in and wrench his sword from his hand. Aramis thrashed and kicked, refusing to be subdued. He slammed his head back into Porthos's face, causing the larger musketeer to stagger back and lose his grip. Aramis whipped out his dagger and lunged at Athos, who managed to catch Aramis's wrist midair. The force of his momentum drove Athos back until he hit the altar, knocking over the witch's supplies. The point of the dagger angled down toward his throat as Athos grappled with Aramis, trying to keep it from piercing his jugular.

D'Artagnan finally rushed in and slammed the pommel of his sword into the back of Aramis's head, and the marksman crumpled. Athos staggered as he fell against him, the dagger still caught between their two grips. Athos prized it out of now lax fingers and Aramis slid to the floor, unconscious.

The three musketeers stood in a suspended moment of shock, chests heaving, pulses racing. Athos raised his head and exchanged harried looks with Porthos and d'Artagnan. Then he noticed the silence and craned his neck around to scan the church. Milady had disappeared. Again.

Athos clenched his fists and looked down at Aramis, his heart cracking at the knowledge of what his ex-wife had done to him. He knelt down and rolled Aramis onto his back, patting him down for a token that could be the focus of the curse. But he didn't find anything out of the ordinary. And without a token to destroy, they had no idea how to break the spell he was under.

Athos slowly stood. "We should get him out of here," he said, voice hollow. Looking around, he spotted some rope along the other wall and walked over to get it.

"What are you doin'?" Porthos asked, shoulders stiffening defensively.

"The same thing we had to do with d'Artagnan," Athos replied, shooting the young Gascon a look.

D'Artagnan's throat bobbed, but he nodded in grim understanding and moved to help Athos bind Aramis's hands and feet.

"Tighter," Athos instructed him as he cinched his own knots around Aramis's wrists.

A muscle in d'Artagnan's jaw ticked, but he wordlessly proceeded to tighten the ropes.

With the marksman now secure, Porthos bent down and hefted Aramis over his shoulder, and then they made their way back outside to where the dragons were waiting. Athos had figured Milady had evaded them, given there'd been no sounding of the alarm from one of them.

Rhaego rushed over in alarm at the sight of his rider, but just as he reached them, the russet dragon abruptly reeled back with a shriek, flinging his head back and forth like he wanted to come closer yet didn't want to.

Porthos tensed in alarm and laid Aramis on the ground. "Rhaego? What's the matter?"

Savron inched closer and looked at Aramis, then furrowed his forehead. Athos's heart sank further.

"They can smell the dark magic," he surmised.

"So what do we do?" Porthos asked. "How do we break the curse?"

"We can't."

Porthos shook his head staunchly. "No, there's gotta be something. Just like before."

"You didn't find a token?" d'Artagnan checked.

"No. I suspect this magic is…deeper." He didn't know how it worked, but binding Aramis's soul didn't sound like a simple spell that could be undone with the snapping of a clay marker.

A grave silence settled over them under the heaviness of night.

"We should get 'im back to the garrison," Porthos said gruffly.

"No," Athos objected. "I don't want to take Aramis back to the city like this and risk the King or Rochefort hearing what happened. They might want Aramis executed immediately for being…possessed."

Porthos's eyes widened at the notion, then hardened as he shifted closer to their friend. "I won't let that happen," he vowed.

"What about Agnes?" d'Artagnan brought up. "This is a magic problem and we need magical help."

Athos furrowed his brow in thought. Agnes was someone they could trust.

"Do you think she'd still be at her cabin in the woods?" d'Artagnan went on.

"I don't know," he answered. "But we can head out there in the morning. For now, we should get away from this place and find a safe spot to camp for the night."

As if there was such a thing with Milady out there. And while they had successfully retrieved Aramis, Athos suspected they had yet to extract him from her clutches.


	3. Chapter 3

Rhaego whimpered and mewled as Athos and d'Artagnan helped get Aramis up onto Vrita in front of Porthos.

"I know, boy," Porthos soothed. "I got 'im."

He snaked an arm around Aramis's middle, holding him firmly against his chest. And he hated how tense he was about it, on guard for Aramis waking up and becoming violent enough to toss them both from the saddle midair. The anchor lines would prevent them from plummeting to their deaths, but the last thing any dragon needed was two flailing bodies dangling from her saddle.

Fortunately, they only flew for a short time before finding a small copse of trees to camp at. Porthos wondered if it was far enough away, wondered if Milady would come after them.

He unhooked the anchor lines as Athos and d'Artagnan came over to catch Aramis as Porthos slid him down to their waiting arms. Ayelet started snorting fire onto some kindling to start a blaze and give them some light, though she should have waited for someone to set a fire ring. After laying Aramis down, d'Artagnan darted over to do that. Savron and Vrita took up sentry positions while Athos went to gather firewood. Rhaego kept a fidgety distance from Aramis, looking forlorn. Porthos understood how he felt.

He took off his altitude cloak and draped it over the marksman, knowing how he felt about the cold. And Aramis had already been chilled before their flight, as Porthos had discovered when holding him close. It'd carved out a pit in his stomach, triggering the thought that maybe he was holding a corpse. That Milady had killed Aramis and put something else inside his body.

And that was why they couldn't take him back to Paris, not until they fixed this. And Porthos had to believe they could fix this.

He frowned as he considered what to use to cushion his friend's head. He turned and went to remove Rhaego's saddle, which had to be uncomfortable to wear given the myriad of gouges along his hide. The leather even had some scratches in it.

Porthos unbuckled the straps and hefted the saddle off, then brought it over to set on the ground behind Aramis. Crouching down, Porthos then slid a hand under Aramis's neck to gently lift him up and prop him against the saddle. His fingers came into contact with a wet tackiness, and he abruptly drew his hand back to find it glistening with blood. Porthos cursed under his breath.

"Athos!"

Athos quickly came over and Porthos held up his hand as evidence. D'Artagnan was right behind him, and the young man blanched.

"I shouldn't have hit him so hard."

"You had no choice," Athos responded. "It was better than killing him."

_Or him killing one of us_ , Porthos added silently. Aramis would never be able to live with that once he came back to himself. Which he _would_. They'd make sure of it. Somehow.

D'Artagnan hurried off to get some water and bandages, then came back to tend the head wound. "I don't feel any give in his skull," he reported as he cleaned the blood away. "Wouldn't be surprised if he had a concussion, though."

At this point, Porthos didn't know whether to be grateful or not d'Artagnan had clobbered him so hard.

But just as the young Gascon was finishing his ministrations, Aramis's eyes slid open. They were still solid black.

Porthos stiffened on alert, ready for a reprisal of their earlier battle. But Aramis didn't make a move against them. He didn't move at all.

"Aramis?" Porthos tried, but once again, he got no reaction. It was like the puppet's strings had been cut. Maybe because Milady wasn't around to tell him to attack. But he was obviously still heavily in her thrall.

Porthos cast a helpless look at Athos and d'Artagnan, who looked equally anguished over the situation. There was nothing they could do currently.

They left him tied up, just to be safe, and went about finishing up making camp. Porthos constantly glanced Aramis's way, but the marksman showed no recognition. His opaque eyes weren't even tracking their movements as far as Porthos could tell. He looked…dead.

Porthos pivoted and marched back over, kneeling down and reaching out to grasp Aramis's wrist firmly. There was a still a pulse beating there, a sign of life. His heart constricted.

"I don' know if you can hear me," he said softly. "But we're gonna fix this. Jus' hang on."

.o.0.o.

There was no change in Aramis throughout the night. Athos took the last watch and spent the entire time watching those lifeless eyes stare out into nothing. It was unnerving.

At the first sign of dawn, he began packing up camp so they could leave quickly. Aramis remained unresponsive as they got him up on Vrita with Porthos again. Athos and Savron took the lead, as they'd been the only ones to actually visit Agnes's cabin. The landscape had changed in over a year, though, the forest recovering from the wildfire that had decimated it. Athos hoped Savron's memory was better than his.

The silverback let out a bark and veered left, angling over a small patch in the tree canopy that revealed a cabin below. There wasn't enough room for four dragons to land, let alone one, so Savron headed for a wider clearing nearby. They'd have to make their way to the cabin on foot.

Athos swung down from the saddle as soon as they landed, preferring to walk. Porthos stayed in the saddle with Aramis. Their party traversed the short distance back through the forest until the cabin came into view. A woman with blonde hair was outside, kneeling on the ground as she tended to a garden. Athos shouldn't have been surprised to see her; he had, after all, sent the Comtesse and her charge to Agnes.

Ninon looked over at the sound of their arrival, expression guarded at first, but as soon as she recognized them, she smiled and rose to her feet. "Athos," she greeted. "I never dreamed I would see you again."

"Like last time, I wish it were under better circumstances," he replied soberly. "We need to see Agnes."

Ninon's smile faltered at the heaviness in his tone. Just then the cabin door opened and Agnes and Fleur stepped out. Fleur immediately looked nervous and hung back in the doorway.

Agnes cast a look at the girl before turning to Athos. "It's good to see you again," she said genially enough. "What brings you here?"

"We need your help," Athos said and gestured to where Porthos and d'Artagnan were getting a lifeless Aramis off of Vrita.

Agnes straightened. "Bring him inside."

They all followed her into her small cabin where Agnes directed Porthos and d'Artagnan to lay Aramis on one of the pallets on the floor. Ninon let out a gasp at the sight of his eyes.

Agnes shot a startled look at the musketeers. "This is sorcery."

"Yes," Athos responded. "A sorceress cast some kind of spell on him. She said she bound his soul to her."

Agnes knelt down beside Aramis and held a hand out over him. After a prolonged moment, she jerked back. "This is very dark magic. Very vile."

Athos's throat constricted. "Can you break it?"

Agnes bit at her bottom lip, considering for a moment. She then turned to Fleur. "I'll need your help."

The girl looked nervous but gave a resolute nod.

Agnes rose to her feet again. "I need to gather some spell ingredients." Beckoning to the young witch, they both headed out.

Porthos moved in to sit beside Aramis, pushing his bandana off his head and wringing it in his hands. D'Artagnan paced the small cabin.

Ninon came over to stand with Athos. "In my time with Fleur and Agnes, I've forgotten there are evil witches in the world," she said quietly.

"This one happens to be my ex-wife."

Ninon's eyes widened in stunned speechlessness.

"She's targeted my brothers because of me," he went on. For all the ways Ninon had of throwing him off-balance, he also found her easy to be open and honest with.

She was quiet for a few beats. "What are you going to do?"

Athos gazed at Aramis's vacant eyes staring up at the ceiling and Porthos's taut expression. "I don't know."

Agnes and Fleur returned, along with a surprise visitor that had all three musketeers staring in disbelief. The firebird with its bright orange and red plumage strutted into the cabin behind the witches and hopped over to Aramis's feet.

"Is that what I think it is?" d'Artagnan blurted.

"The phoenix is a powerful creature," Agnes replied. "He can aid us in breaking this curse."

Porthos shifted nervously. "You sure it ain't gonna set anything on fire?"

"I'm sure. A phoenix's tears possess magical healing properties." She hesitated. "We'll need that."

The musketeers exchanged apprehensive looks at that. Athos didn't expect this to be easy, but they couldn't leave their brother in this state, no matter what.

The two witches methodically set everything up, crushing plants and setting them to boil. The cabin quickly filled with a heady, yet calming aroma. It was almost domestic, in a way, but Athos could see it for what it was—shoring up for battle.

Agnes gestured to Porthos. "Give us room," she asked, and he reluctantly backed away.

Agnes and Fleur knelt on either side of Aramis, with the phoenix next to Agnes. The witches linked their left and right hands and held the others over Aramis. Then they began their incantation.

The prickle of something on the air made Athos tense. He'd spent the past several months dealing with the evil side of witchcraft that it was hard to remember there was a good side.

Aramis suddenly jerked, then started writhing, though he made no sounds. Porthos took a step forward, but Ninon's sharp voice stopped him.

"Let them work," she cautioned.

Porthos's jaw tightened but he held himself back as Aramis's convulsions increased in intensity. Athos watched his brother shake and thrash like he was dying…maybe he was.

Ninon slipped her arm into his in an offer of silent support.

Aramis started making choking noises, and then black smoke began to be drawn out through his mouth.

"That's it," Agnes broke the taut concentration. "Keep going."

Fleur made a small whimper, her knuckles white as she gripped Agnes's hand tightly.

The air grew thick, almost ominous, as though the gathering smoke was a living, seething entity. Athos could see it moving sluggishly, like kelp suctioned to a ship's hull; it didn't want to relinquish its vessel.

The phoenix drew its wings up and belted out a high-pitched shriek. The smoke practically flinched in response.

Athos watched as more and more of that noxious brume was pulled out of Aramis, until finally the last tendril slipped past bloodless lips and Aramis's eyes cleared for a brief second before rolling back as he went limp. The cloying smoke swirled above him, and Agnes rose up onto her knees. With a spitting spell, she slammed her palms together, and the curse imploded in on itself with a pop.

The thickness in the air abruptly abated, and Agnes sagged back on her haunches. But with a small shake, she straightened again and quickly poured some brew into a cup, then held it underneath the phoenix. The firebird tilted its head, and Athos saw a few tears drop into the liquid. Agnes then leaned forward and Fleur lifted Aramis's head as she pressed the rim of the cup to his lips to pour the mixture into his mouth.

"He gonna be all right?" Porthos asked tautly.

"The claim on his soul has been severed," Agnes replied. She leaned back and set the cup aside, her face drawn with obvious exhaustion. Even Fleur was listing to the side. "But he'll need time to recover. Both physically and mentally. That spell…it's an arcane curse from the Dark Ages. I'm surprised there are any who still remember it, let alone have the power to successfully cast it."

Athos's stomach clenched. His ex-wife _had_ learned from the Devil himself.

"Also," Agnes continued tentatively. "This curse wasn't one that was typically reversed. I can't tell you what lingering damage it may have caused."

All the eyes in the room drifted toward Aramis's unconscious form.

"What are you sayin'?" Porthos demanded.

Agnes sighed. "That you're all welcome to stay as my guests for a while, though it's a bit cramped in here."

"Thank you," Athos told her sincerely.

She nodded with a soft smile. Ninon squeezed his arm.

That was one battle down.


	4. Chapter 4

Despite Agnes's generous offer, it was far too crowded in her small cabin for three women and four men to sleep, not to mention entirely improper. So, even though it was the middle of December, Athos and d'Artagnan agreed to camp outside with the dragons and a bonfire to keep warm by. Porthos, of course, could not be pulled from Aramis's side.

At least they were between snowfalls, so even though it was frigid, they managed with the bonfire and their altitude cloaks, sheltered under the protective wings of their dragons.

Athos didn't get much sleep, though, and not because of the cold. His thoughts churned and roiled, keeping him awake. Plus he had one ear trained on the cabin in case anything happened during the night.

But all was silent.

The following morning, Agnes opened the door and invited them back inside. The warmth from the cooking fire immediately buffeted Athos's nipped cheeks and sent a shiver down his arms. D'Artagnan gave a sharp shake as well and moved closer to the fire where Ninon was stirring a large pot of what smelled like stew. Aramis was still lying on the pallet under some blankets with Porthos sitting by his side.

Ninon offered them all breakfast, which they took with subdued thanks. The pall of worry for their brother lay heavily over them all and wouldn't dissipate until they knew whether Aramis would be all right.

It was another hour before Porthos perked up at his place of vigil. "He's waking up."

Athos and d'Artagnan immediately moved closer as Aramis lolled his head slightly, face scrunching up as consciousness slowly stirred. Even though Athos had seen the black cloud in his eyes vanish at the end of Agnes's spell, he still held his breath as he waited for those eyes to open again and be back to their normal brown.

Aramis's eyelids groggily peeled open to reveal clouded hickory-colored irises. Squinting, he roved his gaze around the room, confusion furrowing his brow.

Porthos laid a hand on his shoulder. "Aramis?"

The marksman turned his head toward him.

Porthos swallowed hard. "You in there?"

"What?"

Athos nearly sagged at the sound of his voice, however frayed and thin it came out.

"Wh-where are we?"

"You remember Agnes, yeah?" Porthos said, adopting a cheerful tone. He shifted to the side so Aramis could see past him. "We're at her cabin."

Aramis squinted at her for a prolonged moment, then swept his gaze around the room again, his eyes landing on Athos and d'Artagnan. "How…?"

"We needed her help," Athos replied.

D'Artagnan cleared his throat. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Aramis's brows knitted together. Then like a flash of powder, his eyes blew wide and he lurched upright, twisting to the side as he violently retched onto the floor.

"Whoa!" Porthos exclaimed, grabbing his shoulders to brace him.

Several guttural heaves wracked his body as he threw up black bile, which sent a thrill of fear down Athos's spine. When the spasms were over, Aramis went limp, and Porthos gently rolled him back over, scooting in to prop him up in his arms.

Agnes moved in with a cup of steaming tea. "This will help," she said, touching the rim to his lips.

Aramis grimaced but was apparently too weak to fight her off, and she managed to get a few swallows down him. Once she was satisfied, she moved away, and Fleur ducked in with some rags to mop up the puddle of sick.

"I remember everything," Aramis uttered with a shuddering breath.

Athos stiffened. He had been hoping…

"I remember attacking you," Aramis went on, gaze dull and distant. "I remember her casting the spell…remember her voice inside my head. I could _feel_ her, like she had hooked physical claws into my heart…" He reached a hand up to clutch at his chest.

Porthos covered that hand with his and squeezed. "You're free of her now. Agnes broke the curse."

Aramis flicked a haunted look up at him, then away. "She did it once; she could do it again. I couldn't…I couldn't fight it." His chest hitched. "At one point I stopped wanting to. I was hers, wholly, body and soul."

A violent shudder ripped through him and he closed off, trying to roll away from Porthos and curl in on himself. Porthos didn't let him escape his embrace, just shifted his arm so it was still wrapped securely across Aramis's chest, holding him back against Porthos's bulk and warmth.

Athos hated seeing his brother this tormented, and he knew that Aramis wouldn't find peace until Milady was gone for good.

None of them would.

The cabin was heavy with somber silence as the women quietly bustled about their business, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, even though it was the musketeers who were disrupting their lives.

When Agnes headed outside alone, Athos followed. He trailed her around the side of the cabin to where the dragons were lounging. Both of them drew to a stop at the sight of the phoenix standing on Rhaego's back and dropping tears onto some of his many gashes.

"It seems someone had the same idea I did," Agnes remarked, jiggling a pouch in her hand.

The phoenix healed the last of Rhaego's wounds and let out a squawk. Rhaego chirped and spun around, sending the firebird into the air with a flurry of flustered feathers. He let out a throaty call and reared up, pawing excitedly at his old friend. The phoenix swooped in and out around his head in equal excitement. Any other day, Athos might have found the sight amusing.

Agnes turned toward him, expression serious as though she'd sensed why he'd followed her outside.

"How can I defeat a sorceress as powerful as Milady?" he asked.

She hesitated before answering. "I can spell a dagger that will get past any magical warding she may have, but you'll have to get close enough to pierce her heart with it."

Athos nodded gravely. "I can do that."

Agnes regarded him for a long moment, then inclined her head in concession.

They went back inside then, but Agnes left again soon afterward, presumably to get the requested item for Athos. The rest of them remained, loitering around. Fleur was telling d'Artagnan some of the things she's learned since last they saw her. Porthos was sticking close to Aramis, who had a deadened look in his eyes that worried Athos. Ninon brought over a bowl of broth from the stew for him. Aramis ignored her at first, but after some persistent prodding, he finally took it with listless enthusiasm.

Athos waited until Ninon moved away before going over to sit on the floor next to him. "I'm so sorry for everything that's happened," he spoke quietly. For what Aramis had just gone through, for the ghosts of Savoy Milady had inflicted upon him. For all the turmoil she'd wreaked upon their lives by threatening those they held most dear.

Aramis's gaze was distant and fixed on something none of them could see. Athos wasn't even sure he'd heard him. Then his forehead creased and he looked up in alarm.

"A demon attacked Rhaego."

"He's fine," Athos quickly assured him. "The phoenix—do you remember it?—even healed him right up a few minutes ago. They're outside right now scampering around like a bunch of children."

Aramis gazed at him for a prolonged beat, then slid his gaze back down to the bowl of broth.

"Maybe you wanna go outside and see 'im?" Porthos prompted. "He was worried about you."

Aramis didn't respond. He slowly lifted a hand to clutch at his chest again.

"Are you in pain?" Athos asked.

Aramis numbly shook his head. "I don't feel…whole," he murmured.

Athos and Porthos exchanged a worried look over his head, but Porthos quickly squashed it down and put on a more cheerful mien.

"You just need time to recover, regain your strength." He gave a pointed nod to the broth.

Aramis, however, didn't look convinced and continued to rub at his sternum.

Porthos's lips thinned and he turned back to Athos. "When are we headin' back to the garrison?"

"Not just yet," he replied. "I'd like to keep Agnes close for a little longer, just to make sure everything's all right."

Porthos's mouth turned down, but he didn't say anything. It was obvious Aramis wasn't okay, though whether there was anything more Agnes could do, Athos didn't know, and he didn't really expect there was. But there was another matter she was helping him with, one he wanted to take care of before they returned to Paris.

And since he didn't want any questions about it, Athos slipped outside again to wander the property in privacy. Until he came upon Ninon in the garden picking vegetables. It would have been easy to turn around and disappear behind the cabin, to make his way into the woods where no one would find him for a while.

But he didn't. Instead, he made his way over to her.

"Can I help?" he asked.

Ninon looked up at him with a soft smile and gestured for him to have at it.

He knelt on the ground and started examining the produce on the vine for ones that were ripe and ready to be picked.

"I suppose your ex-wife is why you swore off romance," she said after a few minutes.

His hands stilled in their task.

"My apologies," she said quickly. "I should not have brought it up."

Athos rocked back on his haunches. "Yes, she is."

Ninon looked away and went back to picking squash.

"Are you happy here?" he asked, not sure where the question had come from but following through nonetheless. "Going from a Comtesse to this simple living had to be an adjustment."

It had been for him, but he'd been intentionally punishing himself.

"It was," she agreed. "But this life has given me what I've always cherished—my freedom."

Yes, there was a freedom in renouncing one's title. My, they had a lot in common. In another life, they might have been suitable for each other.

"And I'm happy to see Fleur flourishing," Ninon went on. "Agnes has taught her how to control her magic."

"I'm glad to hear it," Athos said.

They fell silent after that, having picked enough vegetables to begin a stew for that night. Athos picked up the basket to carry inside but was stopped by Agnes returning and catching his eye, beckoning him over. He gave Ninon an apologetic look as he passed her the basket. Her expression was one of understanding as she went inside to give them privacy.

Agnes handed him a jeweled athame. "I've blessed it," she said. "It will pierce any magical shield the sorceress may have."

Athos examined the pristine silver sheen of the blade and nodded his thanks.

Agnes pulled a necklace with a medallion strung on the cord from her pocket. "And this will protect you against magical interference."

He leaned his head forward so she could place it around his neck. The amulet settled against his chest. "Thank you. If the others ask, tell them I had something to take care of."

Agnes didn't look pleased by that part, but she nodded in understanding. "Godspeed."

Athos nodded; he didn't exactly believe, but he'd need it.

Armed with the dagger and amulet, he walked out to the rear of the cabin to where Savron was waiting. The silverback perked up at his approach, ever able to read his mood without him saying anything.

Athos paused and laid a hand on his dragon's snout. "This is a dangerous mission, my friend," he said soberly.

Savron dipped his head in understanding and support. As if there were any doubt he would bear his rider into this danger.

Athos mounted up and they took to the skies, flying back toward the abandoned church.

It was getting late in the evening when they arrived, a small breeze scattering crinkled up husks of leaves across the ground. The air was crisp and Athos's breath came out in puffs of white. Barren tree branches crooked gnarled fingers toward the deepening gloaming. The church was dark and shrouded in shadows again.

Athos slid down from the saddle and took a moment to stand at his dragon's side, one hand on Savron's shoulder, the other surreptitiously reaching to feel the jeweled dagger tucked at his back. He drew in a breath to steel himself. How many times had he faced off with his ex-wife? He had to make sure this was the last.

"Show yourself!" he bellowed to the eerie woods, once again banking on the fact that she would expect him to return. They knew each other too well.

A gust of wind kicked up a swirl of leaves and dust, and almost out of thin air, Milady stepped out from behind a tree. Her long black cloak trailed behind her like waves of ink as she strode toward him, expression set in cold fury.

"You broke my spell," she said, voice tight and angry. "How?"

"Does it matter?"

She gave a flippant toss of her head as though trying to appear unbothered. "No. I can just lay claim to Aramis's soul again. Or perhaps d'Artagnan's." Her lips curved upward in malice. "I can play this game for eternity."

"You will never lay a hand on any of them ever again," he said.

She smirked. "You can't stop me, Athos." She stalked closer, then pulled up short and her brows rose in apparent surprise. "Well, well," she tutted, eyes on the amulet around his neck. "You've found yourself a witch, I see. I assume that's who saved poor Aramis? Not that she could be anywhere near as powerful as I am."

Athos held himself stiffly as she moved forward again. Savron growled low in his throat and she spat a Latin word at him that made him flinch away from Athos a step.

Two black demons suddenly came swooping in to surround him, and Savron spun and shrieked as they snapped at his heels, hemming him in.

"Savron!" Athos barked. To anyone else it would have sounded like fear, but his dragon forced himself to remain still and not engage. Let Milady think she had the upper hand.

With Savron reined in, Milady closed the distance and lashed a hand out to seize Athos by the throat. He started reaching for the dagger…

Milady uttered another word, and suddenly Athos's limbs felt like they were ensconced in a mire. She grabbed the amulet and yanked it off, tossing it away. Then it wasn't even like he was stuck in mud, but fully paralyzed as he stood there and she tightened her fingers around his neck.

Savron screeched, but the demons hissed and chittered, keeping him at bay.

Milady gave Athos a simpering moue. "Did you come here to kill me?"

He gritted his teeth, trying to get his arm to move.

She laughed. "We're bound together, you and I. You know there can be no peace for either of us, until we are both dead."

Sweat broke out upon his brow with the intensity of his exertion, though still his body wouldn't respond. Then Athos heard d'Artagnan shout his name, and Ayelet came swooping down and pounced on one of the demons. At the same moment, d'Artagnan charged out from behind a tree and fired his pistol.

Milady threw her other hand up and deflected the bullet. Then she flung her arm out and d'Artagnan was lifted off his feet and thrown through the air. But the distraction was enough; Athos managed to get his fingers around the hilt, and with that physical contact, he felt strength surge back into his arm.

Milady turned back to him, and Athos plunged the dagger into her heart. Her eyes blew wide in shock and she looked down. Athos's own heart clenched with regret for so many things…but this wasn't one of them.

He gave the dagger a deft twist. A startled gasp spilled from her lips as Milady staggered back, the blade still in her heart. She lifted her gaze to Athos one last time, but there was nothing of the woman he'd once loved there. Then she crumpled.

Several yards away, the demons squealed as Savron and Ayelet finished them off.

D'Artagnan hobbled over, skirting around Milady's body cautiously. "Is she really dead?"

Athos closed his eyes for a moment and breathed. "Yes."

She was wrong; he was still alive, and he did feel peace.


	5. Chapter 5

Athos wrapped Milady's body in his cloak and tied her to the back of the saddle on Savron's back. It was over. Part of him grieved—the part of him that remembered the woman he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. Even though it had all been a lie.

He turned to d'Artagnan. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw you leave and figured where you were going. So Ayelet and I followed." D'Artagnan crossed his arms and gave him a sardonic look. "And turns out my suspicions were right."

Athos sighed, but then offered the lad a wan quarter smile. "Thank you."

D'Artagnan nodded sagely. "I'm sorry you were the one to do it."

Athos's gaze drifted toward the bulk draped over Savron's back. "I'm not."

He had meant it when he'd said this was his responsibility. And not because he was responsible for what Anne had become, but because he was a musketeer, and he was Captain. It was his duty to protect the King, France, and his own men.

With that, they mounted their dragons and flew back to Agnes's cabin. It was dark by the time they arrived, but the bonfire was burning again with Vrita and Rhaego on watch.

Athos untied Milady's body from Savron's back and deposited her on the ground. He hesitated a moment, but Savron gave him a nod; he'd remain on guard until the witch's remains could be properly disposed of.

The cabin door opened just as Athos and d'Artagnan started toward it, and Ninon's shadowed face peered out, awash with amber relief in the firelight. She backed up to let them enter, and everyone looked sharply their direction, particularly Porthos.

"Milady is dead," Athos reported.

Porthos's brow furrowed. "You sure? Because we thought she was dead last time."

"I'm fairly certain," Athos replied, glancing at Agnes in question. "But we'll burn the body as soon as we've presented it to the King as proof that the threat is over." Athos shifted his gaze to Aramis where he was still reclining on the pallet. "You're safe now."

It was an extra moment, but Aramis slowly gave a small nod in return.

Athos turned to Agnes. "If we might impose upon you for one more night, we'll leave at tomorrow's light."

"Of course," she said. "And please, take the floor this time." Agnes gave him a sympathetic look. "No one needs to sleep with the dead."

Athos hesitated, but then nodded.

No, he didn't.

.o.0.o.

Athos slept through the night undisturbed for the first time in months. When he rose the next morning, there was a brief flash of fear that he'd step outside and Milady's body would be gone.

But it was still there, wrapped in his cloak and under the watchful eye of four dragons. That feeling of peace settled a little deeper inside him.

Unfortunately, it was obvious that feeling didn't extend to everyone.

Aramis moved slowly on his way out of the cabin and toward his dragon, his eyes sunken and ringed with dark circles.

"You sure you can ride?" Porthos asked, giving him a concerned look.

"Yes," he responded dully.

Rhaego perked up and nudged Aramis with his nose as he walked past. The marksman absently raised a hand to give him a half-hearted pat in return but didn't even meet his dragon's eye. Rhaego mewled as Aramis pulled himself into the saddle with effort.

Porthos's expression was pinched as he came over to Athos. "He didn't sleep at all last night," he remarked quietly.

And neither did Porthos if he was so certain of that. He was worried; they all were.

"We'll keep an eye on him," Athos said.

He went to retrieve his ex-wife's body and tied her to Savron's back again.

"Thank you," he then said to Agnes, Fleur, and Ninon. "I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"I think we have a mutual stake in coming to each other's rescue," Agnes replied with a quirk of her lips.

Athos inclined his head in agreement.

Ninon stepped forward. "You should visit again. And not only just when circumstances require it."

He didn't really know what to say to that, rendered speechless by her directness once again.

Ninon merely smiled and leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek.

And there really wasn't anything he could say to follow that, so with a canting of his head, he turned and swung up onto his dragon. The four musketeers bid their final farewells before leaping into the air and setting course for Paris.

They all kept an eye on Aramis, who hardly seemed focused on the journey. At least he stayed in the saddle.

Upon their return, Athos steered them toward the palace as their first destination. He knew Aramis should be sent straight to his room at the barracks to rest and recover more, but Athos also felt that he needed this.

They landed outside the Louvre, which of course drew attention. Some palace guards tried to tell them to leave, but Athos snapped at them to send word to the King that they had an urgent matter for him. Fortunately, one of them was young and green enough to dart off and do just that rather than argue with them as the former Red Guard would have done.

It was several minutes before Louis, Anne, Treville, and Rochefort all came out to see them, along with several armed guards, Athos noted.

"Yes, what is it?" Louis asked tersely. "You'd better have good news for me about Milady, Athos."

"I do, Your Majesty." Athos slid the body off Savron's back and moved a few paces forward before setting it on the ground. He pulled the top of his cloak back, revealing a face as white and cold as porcelain.

Louis perked up at that. "Is that her?" he asked tremulously.

"Yes," Athos confirmed. He opened his pouch to pull out some incendie, which he tossed over the body. Then he backed away and gestured to Savron.

The dragon angled his head toward the corpse, his belly lighting up with fulvous veins. Igniting his fire, he belched a stream of it over the body, which lit up in a purple whoosh and pop as the explosive compound amplified the flame's heat. In a matter of seconds, there was nothing left of the witch but ash.

Louis clapped his hands together. "My loyal musketeers have done it; they have slain the wicked witch!"

"I knew they would come through for us in the end," Anne added with a genial smile their way.

Rochefort, on the other hand, stood just slightly behind the royal couple, looking like he'd bitten into a lemon again. Athos locked eyes with him for a moment; they were coming for him next.

"Congratulations," Treville put in. "I can't imagine that had been an easy task." His shrewd gaze roved past Athos and over the others.

Athos turned his head to glance at Aramis, who was staring at the pile of ash numbly.

"No, it wasn't," he replied quietly.

The Queen must have heard him, though. "You've done France a great service," she said for everyone to hear. "I'm sure you could use some time to rest."

"Of course," Louis heartily agreed. "Splendid work."

Athos bowed.

At least they were back in the King's good graces.

.o.0.o.

After returning home, d'Artagnan seemed eager to see Constance; he'd barely gotten Ayelet's saddle off before he was hurrying toward the house, leaving the bags to be unpacked later. Ayelet shrugged to herself and went to find Falkor so she could tell him of their victory. The evil witch that had been tormenting their riders was finally dead.

He took the news with his usual taciturnity. Good, he said. But at least there was a thread of what Ayelet might interpret as pride in his tone.

Encouraged, she went on to tell him that she'd met some witches who weren't evil at all. They'd even helped them by providing shelter and aid.

Falkor bared his teeth at that. There were no good witches, he growled.

But they saved Aramis, and there was a magical creature there as well, a firebird. It trusted them.

Falkor got to his feet and snapped his jaws. Hadn't she learned anything? Humans were forbidden from touching magic.

Ayelet faltered. But if they used magic for good, then why was that bad?

Because it was! he snarled.

She recoiled from his explosive temper, completely bewildered by it. Sure, he'd been prickly before, but this was the first time Falkor was unsettling her. She inched backward and started to leave.

He begged her not to go, his tone abruptly apologetic. He was sorry for snapping at her. They should just drop this line of conversation and talk about something else.

Ayelet hesitated. But he'd never asked her to stay and talk with him before. That was progress, right? Still, she was a tad uneasy as she sat back on her haunches and curled her tail around her legs. She asked what he'd like to talk about instead.

He lay back down and asked her to recount the tale of the witch's death to him.

That she could do, and as she got caught up in the telling, her previous unease was all but forgotten.

.o.0.o.

Aramis sat in his room, chair pushed up against the window, his head resting against the frame as he gazed listlessly through the pane. His breath fogged up the glass, ebbing and flowing like waves of white frost. Even wrapped in a blanket, he was chilled down to his marrow, and the pale winter sky with its muted sun was doing little to help. He'd felt a bone-deep cold before, after Savoy.

This was different, though. This one touched his very soul.

There was a knock at the door but he barely registered it. A moment later it opened and Athos entered, letting in a brisk influx of air that triggered gooseflesh up Aramis's arms, even tucked under the blanket as they were. He curled further into the woolen fabric.

Athos shut the door and walked over to sit in the other chair across from him. He set a bottle of wine on the table next to the Bible Aramis hadn't been able to open.

"I thought this might help with some of the chill."

Aramis slid his gaze along the bottle but couldn't bring himself to reach for it. He couldn't go there, couldn't let his faculties start to slip, start to lose control of himself like when he'd…

Bile rose in the back of his throat and he turned away, squeezing his eyes shut. It was several long moments before Athos spoke, and Aramis had almost forgotten he was there.

"I don't know how to fix this," he said quietly.

Aramis didn't respond; he didn't know how to fix it either. He didn't know how to reconcile what he'd gone through with what he thought he'd believed in. He'd been in the Void, completely cut off from everything and everyone…even God.

"She _is_ dead, Aramis." Athos leaned forward earnestly. "She will never come after any of us again."

His hand drifted up to rub at his sternum. "I've had faith in God my entire life," he murmured. "Devoted myself to His Word, to prayer, to charity. I believed my soul belonged to him." His fingers crooked into his shirt, bunching it up as he clutched at his heart where there was an ache so deep he couldn't reach it. "Come to find that Evil can snatch it out of His hand just like that."

Tears welled in his eyes as he lifted his gaze to Athos, knowing his friend didn't understand, didn't share his level of faith in God to know why this was so agonizing for him.

"I know what Hell is, now," he continued brokenly.

Athos's expression pinched as he gazed back at him. "It's over, Aramis. Your soul is free."

He shook his head. Athos didn't understand. His soul was supposed to be secure by the Blood of the Lamb and Aramis's faith. But on a witch's whim, she'd taken that from him, corrupted him with her evil. He could still feel remnants of it, like worms writhing inside him. And there was no comfort to be found from God.

Aramis had never felt so alone, so abandoned.

He let out a derisive snort. "This must be what Emilie felt when we took her God from her."

"Aramis…"

"Just—" he interrupted. "Just let me rest."

Athos nodded sadly and stood up to leave. He paused at the door before opening it and said, "We need to start planning how we'll deal with Rochefort. Soon."

Aramis's throat tightened and he didn't say anything right away, gaze going out the clouded window again. He was a musketeer, he reminded himself. Even if a broken one, but that wasn't really new for him, so he drew in a shaky breath and turned to meet Athos's gaze.

"I'll be there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> Rochefort finally professes his love to the Queen, but when she rejects him, he snaps and sets off a campaign to destroy her.


End file.
